The Deathspeaker
by Triple-Helix
Summary: She sat atop a pale horse, fair of skin and dark of hair. Her lips parted and the breeze that was playing through her raven locks died away. "You are all in the Grave Danger. My name is Rukia Kuchiki, and I am Speaker of the Dead."


**The Deathspeaker**

By Triple-Helix

**Chapter 1**

White clouds were drifting lazily across the crystal blue sky, the first glimpses of autumn peeking through the rays on sunshine. He sighed, half watching their progress past the window and half watching the instructor at the front of his classroom. He managed to avoid catching her eye as his attention shifted down to the book on his desk. He could feel the weight of disapproval in her stare, her instruction coming to a halt as she waited for a class member to answer.

Hands rose into the air. His did not.

Answers were given, problems corrected, topics raised, assignments levied; the timeless play of instructor and students carried out to the final act as the bell rang to close the day. He returned his books to his bag, shouldered it, and made his way wordlessly to the exit, ignoring the scraps of chair legs and dodging students as they collected their things. He made it as far as the door, opening up into sunshine so bright he had to shield his eyes, before a voice over his shoulder cut through the din and made him stop short.

"Black smoke."

The students at the threshold came a sudden halt behind him, conversations died away and everyone looked to the rooftops. A crooked finger of black, oily smoke was rising into the air, bent by the breeze, from a chimney down a lane and across the plaza. He ignored the sudden fearful glances the other students were throwing each other as nervous energy began bubbling up within them. His eyes swept the plaza, unsurprised to find it empty and still. The normal afternoon market had been hastily packed up and all the townspeople were probably in their homes.

"Students? Students what is-" the teacher began, shouldering her way through the knot of frozen people. Her eyes caught the column of black against the azure sky and the words died in her mouth. He could hear the creak of the wooden pointer in her hands as her fingers tightened on it, her eyes never leaving the sooty trail in the sky. "Quickly children," she breathed, "Go home."

Not needing to be told twice, the students set off immediately. He watched them go, small groups with their heads down but eyes alert, their pace quick but quiet. He sighed again. He didn't feel the usual fear or uncertainty, and certainly not the exhileration the younger ones tried to hide, borne from their sheer naivete. All he felt was aggrivation that it was happening, again. He heard the scuff of shoes beside him and did not need to look to know who had fallen in at his side. "You should be going home."

"So should you."

"Can't," he gruffed, "I've got to go help." He aimed a finger up at the narrow finger of smoke in the sky. He was walking directly towards it.

"No, you don't," she said. "You don't got to do anything."

A shrug was his only response. Together they turned down the alley the smoke was coming from, a dark and grimy forgotten little lane thrown into gloomy shadow by buildings on either side. The shop below the apartment had been closed for years, windows boarded up and the place all but entirely forgotten by the rest of the town. He knew this place.

"Wait... this is-" she began, her words faltering.

The trail of black in the sky now seemed to be pointing it's jagged tip at the apartment in front of them, rather than rise into the air. Juvenile aggrivation gave way to a cold, seeping dread in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah," he managed to say with a suddenly dry mouth.

"But that would mean he's-" she muttered. She met his eyes, wide and more fearful than he'd ever seen them. "What happens? What happens when it's one of them?!" she demanded.

He opened his mouth to reply but the sound of hoofbeats clattering against the cobblestones interrupted him. Together, the two turned to see a rider turn down the lane and slow to a canter, finally coming to a stop before them. His lips firm and brows set, he turned to face this stranger, apparently unaware of the danger that had settled over his town. A hand left the reins and drew back the hood of her black riding cloak, spilling raven hair that fell to her nape of her neck. She swept cursory glance over them, then flicked glittering amythist eyes up to the black smoke overhead.

She cut an imposing figure atop her pale horse, all fair of skin and dark of hair, the both of them covered with the sheen of sweat that comes a long, hard ride. Her horse whinnied and she thoughtlessly soothed her with the easy confidence of longstanding familiarity.

Her eyes flicked back downward, unreservedly meeting his as her thin brows quirked in consternation. Her lips parted and the breeze that was playing through her hair died away. "What are you doing here?"

His brain felt muddied and a reply neglected to immediately form on his tongue. Thankfully, he was spared of floundering for something to say when the young woman beside him spoke up.

"Who the hell are you?"

Perhaps he should be less thankful.

"Black smoke," the rider said by way of reply, her tone growing harsh, "Means the Grave Danger. You need to leave, now."

"I can't," he said finally. "My father is in there," and he pointed to the apartment behind him, down the shady lane.

Her eyes traveled from him to the building he was pointing at. "You are the healer's son, then? Ichigo Kurosaki."

"Yes," he said, somewhat surprised.

The creak of unoiled hinges drew his attention and he turned to see his father step from the darkened doorway. "Dad," he called, but dared not come any closer at the warning look his father aimed at him. He watched his father look past him, up to meet the rider's eyes as a look of recognition flickered over his face. He gave her a gentle shake of his head and pulled the door firmly shut behind him.

"This was the home of your Speaker?" she asked, addressing no one in particular. He glanced over his shoulder to meet her eye again, nodding mutely. "And you are familiar with the Grave Danger?"

He turned to face her more fully. "I am the son of healer here, I have seen death before."

Her lips turned up at his words, eyes glancing over him in a calculating way. "Is that what you are, Ichigo Kurosaki, the son of the healer here?"

Head cocked at her, he replied, "Of course I am." He glanced to his side to see the young woman staring mutely at a sigil on the rider's saddle bags.

"Regardless," the rider said, swinging a leg over her horse and landing deftly on her feet, "You most assuredly have never seen the death of a Speaker." She flipped the flap of a saddle bag up and retrieved an official looking sealed envelope. "I must speak with your governor immediately, Karakura Town is hereby placed beneath the Veil."

"What?!" he exclaimed. A hand landed on his shoulder and he turned to see the face of his father, his unshaven jaw set in resolute acceptance. He turned back to face the surprisingly petite rider aim a positively glacial look of professional superiority at him.

"Your Speaker is dead," she said with finality. "The Grave Danger is coming and the Veil is warrented."

His mouth clamped firmly shut and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "And just who are you?"

"I have come from Central, my name is Rukia Kuchiki." She faced him directly, eyes flashing just as bright as his. "And I am a Speaker of the Dead."

A moment passed between them, wordless but heavy, before they both heard a gasp and shriek by their side. "Tatsuki!" he yelled, reaching towards her just as she began to crumple. His father was already there, bending in to see the arm she had clutched to her stomach.

"Please..." Tatsuki whispered through the pain, furious and desperate. "Please Deathspeaker."

Ichigo watched his father pry her arm away, her fingers curled into clenched claws, a rictus of agony on her face. Purple-black spiderweb veins were beginning to blossom beneath the skin of her arm, the whole of it starting to quiver and shake.

"It has begun," Rukia said solemnly, "Take her and go." She stepped back to her horse and retrieved a heavy bound book and leather pouch from the saddle bag. "I must begin my work."


End file.
